


For Old Times' Sake

by starspatter



Series: Broken Bird [2]
Category: Batman Beyond, Batman Beyond 2.0 (Comics), Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 23:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5605810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starspatter/pseuds/starspatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some rules - and traditions - were made to broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Old Times' Sake

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year, everyone! As promised, here's another part that I felt was missing from the RotJ story. (I found out after I finished that there was a flashback in the Justice League Beyond comics that contradicts this, but meh what is continuity in this series anyway. Besides I prefer my version - especially after learning about the existence of Batman: Turning Points outside of the DCAU. Given the circumstances, I feel this is more in line with how Gordon would really react in regards to his relationship with Bruce Wayne afterwards.)

Arkham. Once a grave monument to madness, now stripped bare to its bones. The shattered gate stood wide open like a gaping maw, bent steel and chain littering the earth – a testament to its lack of security and the tracks of a raging fender that broke through last night, screeching like a bat out of hell. The Commissioner parked his own car outside the wreck and stepped carefully over its teeth, trudging up the long driveway towards the impending fortress itself.

He was getting too old for this.

James Gordon never thought he'd set foot in this condemned place again, a sore reminder of when the asylum housed as much corruption as crazies. Perhaps, none of them wanted to dwell on its ancestor's existence; acknowledge the number of failures at rehabilitation, blatant ineptitude in staff hiring policy and sheer _inability_ to keep inmates restrained. The whole facility was a joke, and the one who had made the most mockery of it had ironically claimed its remains, converting the ruins into his very own palace right under their noses.

Every one of them had missed the obvious. And it came back to bite them in the ass.

His daughter was anticipating him at the entrance. He could tell from a glance it was just Barbara present – not Batgirl, the proud persona she once thought she could fool her father with. (As if he really wouldn't recognize her mother's cardinal mane and robin egg eyes and indomitable spirit underneath the guise.) Her "partner" was nowhere to be seen either.

"Dad."

She flung her arms around him; her makeup was a mess, clearly she'd been crying before he got here. Surely she hadn't slept. At the moment she wasn't Batgirl, or even the strong woman she always tried to seem. Right now she was daddy's little girl, and she needed him to be her pillar. He held her close and soothed her hair, waiting for her to work out the courage and words to speak.

"It's Tim- Robin. We found him. He's- he's… Joker made him… He's dead – JJ shot him – and Harley-"

"Slow down, sweetheart. Start from the beginning."

She nodded, taking a deep breath and wiping dry her face. Leading over puddles and rubble, she walked him through the sequence of events that occurred after they received an "invitation" in the form of (straight)jack(et)-in-a-box. To the operating theatre, where Joker and Harley had staged a play of happy husband and wife in their humble abode. To the table behind the curtain, where their "son" lay sleeping. She showed him the projector that, according to Batman, had rolled for him a private video: a "family home movie" of sorts. …Outside, past the cliff where Quinn fell. And finally, the carcass belonging to the Clown Prince himself.

Even though the pale white skin was already cold to the touch when he turned it over, Jim checked for a pulse anyway. He had to confirm it for himself, with his own eyes: the Joker was well and truly dead. Those laughing lips were still stretched into a manic rictus, smeared blood dribbling from the corner. Even expired, the madman's greatest jest had left a foul mark on them all.

"…What's going to happen to Tim?"

Barbara asked, staring at the flag wound sticking out of the cadaver's chest.

Jim shook his head. "From what you've told me, it doesn't sound like he's in any shape for questioning right now. He's old enough to be tried as an adult, but even if he were fit to take the stand, I doubt any court would convict him. Given the circumstances, if not for the temporary insanity plea, should he face a jury they'd rule in self-defense."

"What about Bruce? Are you going to arrest him?"

The Commissioner raised an eyebrow.

"You realize if I do that, I'd have to arrest you too."

"I know." Barbara declined on one of the toy blocks and hung her head. "Dad, it was my fault. Bruce and I were together when it happened. We let Robin go on patrol by himself. He- he said he could handle it. And he always has. Come back safe and sound. But this time he…" She buried her face in her hands. "He's just a kid. I was so stupid to forget that. I shouldn't have left him alone. Shouldn't have let him out of my sight."

Jim rested a hand on his daughter's shoulder.

"You can't blame yourself, honey."

If anything, there was more than enough blame to go around. As a responsible party – both a police officer and a parent – he should have put a stop to it sooner. He'd been skeptical from the beginning of course, back when Batman first brought the boy from the circus to his department, dressed head-to-toe in that ridiculous traffic light get-up and wearing an eager grin from ear-to-ear. But they'd proven to be such a stellar team, and the world's greatest detective was always two steps ahead, successfully keeping the kid out of danger's clutches time and time again. In turn, the dark knight's page kept them all in high spirits with his endless abundance of energy and wisecracks. A light opposed to vengeance, brightening the night.

It hardly escaped the Commissioner's notice that when his morning bird matured and left the nest, the bat seemed much more morose and sullen than usual. Brooding without his brood. So it came as little surprise when he suddenly showed up one day with yet another young associate by his side. This one was even smaller than the first, but just as full of fight and enthusiasm. So ready and willing to please, to impress, to fill his predecessor's boots. Follow in his idols' footsteps, joyfully tracing flight patterns through the sky.

Gordon had looked into the lad's history as soon as he was able. Richard Grayson's identity wasn't hard to figure out (neither was Bruce Wayne's for that matter, but he kept that information to himself), but this new ward was a bit of a mystery. A contrast from the colored tents and spotlights of the carnival, he grew up instead on the gray and grimy streets of Crime Alley. A John Doe recently fished out of the Metropolis river was identified as the boy's only relative, which explained how he came to be under custody of Gotham's most famous orphaned billionaire. ...Timothy Drake, son of Steven "Shifty" Drake. Jim was familiar with the name; he'd taken the father in on multiple occasions, starting from when he was a teen. His junior had a record of his own, serving a short stint in juvenile hall. Mostly for mild misdemeanors – shoplifting and aggravating authority. Still, if he kept on the same track Jim had no doubt he'd be showing the boy his own cell one day.

So despite his reservations, he let the new recruitment slide on a trial basis. If the alternative was to toss the youth into an unforgiving system when he was already skirting the edge of the law, Jim would rather he remain on their side. And the boy was more than grateful for a chance to demonstrate his worth. A part of Jim didn't want to deny the child his dream, a fanboy's fantasy – nor did he deny projecting some of his own envious desire to be young and green again, to join the ranks of the remarkable, watching over the city from high above rooftops rather than blindly running around bureaucracy like a foot soldier. He admitted to Batman once, when he'd been shot in the line of duty and his old friend was doubting himself as a result: he always wanted to be a hero. …Perhaps, if he could turn back the clock, he could've been more like the man he himself looked up to.

Plus, after all these years, he trusted in Batman's judgment. …No, the truth was he'd become complacent, relying on a lone vigilante – nay, a god – for everything. He too forgot that heroes – and villains – were merely human, and humans made mistakes. He wasn't the only one acutely aware of accumulating age; even a lunatic like the Joker, for all his stubborn invulnerability, eventually would fall prey to Father Time. So he devised the most terrible scheme, to cultivate his own "kin" to carry on his legacy, and this was the tragic outcome. The piper had come to collect, and posterity paid the price for their collective confidence.

As he looked upon his own progeny, Jim felt a fear, a pang that it could just as well have been his precious baby girl to be targeted by Joker's insane devices. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't constantly worried for her safety, not to mention thankful that at the very least she was all right. None of them deserved this though, and to further punish all persons involved seemed like even more cruel and unnecessary torture, regulations be damned. In his current fragile state, the prospect of exposing Tim's actions to the public and stripping away all his familiar – _familial_ support when he needed it most gave Gordon more than enough pause. Sometimes, there were matters – _people_ more important than justice.

Barbara was having none of reassurance though.

"I couldn't even save Harley… Despite everything she did, we- we might've still been able to help her…"

Jim reeled her in towards him, letting her use his jacket as a handkerchief.

"I'm just glad you're okay." He brushed her bangs aside, kissing her forehead. "We'll search for Quinn later. For now we should deal with Joker. We need to dispose of the body before anyone finds out."

"You're not going to report this?"

"It would only cause a commotion, and Tim doesn't need that right now. The best we can do is give him some peace. He needs time to recover."

"…What if he doesn't get better?"

"He's a strong lad. He'll pull through."

He said with as much faith as he could muster.

Barbara chewed her lip, but nodded in agreement. After a moment, she spoke again with conviction.

"I'm going to give up being Batgirl. And I'm breaking it off with Bruce."

Jim met his daughter's firm gaze, gauging her decision.

"As your father, I'm certainly relieved to hear that." A beat, as he tacitly acknowledged the first statement but skipped to the second. "…Honestly, he's much too old for you. Personally I always thought you got along well with that Grayson boy."

"Dick's coming back to Gotham. I called him right after you."

"Perhaps you two will hit it off again."

"Perhaps."

Jim gave Barbara's hand a slight squeeze, and smiled gently.

"I want you to know: No matter what, I'm proud of you. Whatever choice you make, I just want you to be happy."

Barbara softly returned the gesture.

"Thanks, Dad."

He patted her cheek before pulling away.

"Wait here. I'll go fetch a shovel."

Just then, a gruff voice interjected-

"That won't be necessary."

Both turned in surprise to see Bruce Wayne standing in the doorway – no cape or cowl, but carrying two spades in hand.

"Bruce? What are you doing here? Is Tim-?"

"Leslie's examining him. She insisted on being alone during the procedure."

"Is that safe?"

"He's sedated, for now. Alfred's keeping a close eye on the situation, he'll call right away if anything comes up. Besides, we've business to take care of."

His tone was brisk, austere as always. The absence of emotion made Barbara bristle, but Bruce cut her off again before she could open her mouth.

"You don't need to be here for this. Go home, Barbara, get some rest."

"You're one to talk," she snapped. "You look like hell."

It was Jim's turn to reprimand.

"He's right. You've had a long night. We'll take care of this, you go take care of yourself first."

"But-" her plea was nearly desperate, whining, that of a petulant child. "I want to stay and help."

This time both men spoke in unison:

" _Go home, young lady._ That's an order."

There was an uncomfortable exchange between the two, during which Barbara seemed to debate protesting more but bit her tongue. Instead she clenched her fists and conceded:

"Fine. But I'm letting you know now, Bruce: I'm done with all this. Once this is settled, you and I are through. Completely."

She walked purposefully past him out the exit, never looking back.

Once her presence was gone, Bruce's stance lowered. He swallowed, barely managing to look the Commissioner in the eye.

"Jim, I… I'm sorry."

Gordon regarded his sincerity with a conflicted mix of sternness and sympathy. At the moment the figure standing before him wasn't Batman, a hero, or a god. Right now he was a father who lost his son, an ashamed failure of a foster parent who couldn't protect the ones closest, people he cared about – who cared about him. Despite whatever disapproval or anger Jim held towards him right now, he could empathize with that.

"I never meant for any of this to happen."

_This was not the "Plan"._

Deep down, he'd always had a better understanding of the man behind the mask than most, the boy beneath the bat costume who witnessed his parents' brutal murder at a young age and vowed vengeance. Jim could recall the face streamed with tears and hooded rage when he first arrived on the bloody scene outside the theater. To lose another family like this must be a shocking blow, taking a toll no matter how hard he tried not to let it show.

"The full responsibility is mine, so please leave the others out of this. I know I have no right to ask any favors, but…"

He was begging, trying to buy pardon for his patrons. Baring emotions that had undoubtedly built up to a breaking point over the past few weeks. Call it an investigator's intuition (perhaps "fatherly instinct" was more accurate in this case), but Jim could tell something was wrong as soon as Robin went missing, in the same way he knew when the lad tried to trick him with an imposter when his own boss disappeared. For weeks the two had to defend the city by themselves while Batgirl and Nightwing went off to search, and his respect for the second Boy Wonder grew immensely during that time. Inexperienced though he was, the fledgling never faltered. Jim soon recognized this Robin was a force to be reckoned with.

"Whatever penalty for the charges, I'll accept it."

…But, for all his bravado, he was still just a boy. To allow things to go this far under a false sense of security was inexcusable, if not unforgivable. For all of them.

"Save it, Wayne." No need to ask how pure his intent to sacrifice for their sins truly was when he bothered bringing equipment to hide the evidence. "I'm not the one you should be apologizing to. Let's just focus on the task at hand."

They worked together in silence. Digging, dragging, dumping, deserting to the dirt and worms. There was no eulogy or prayer. Lord knows the devil didn't deserve it.

The two parted just as unceremoniously, reconvening the next morning with an adamant Barbara to comb the canyon for signs of the comic duo's other half. ...Despite all their efforts, they came up empty.

The good news was that within a few days, Tim seemed to be responding effectively to treatment. By the end of the week, Dick also managed to make it back to be by his brother's side. As predicted, he and Barbara started dating again, easily picking up right where they left off. …For a while, things went smoothly. (At least as well as they all could have hoped for, considering.)

Then, the next bombshell landed out of nowhere. Hitting far closer to home.

His daughter was pregnant. …And according to the calendar, it wasn't by her current boyfriend.

Before he could even process that revelation, he found out the grandchild was lost. Grayson gave up, ran away once again to Blüdhaven, hurt and betrayed by the very ones he had returned to be with. Wanted to be with, in sickness and in health. Jim stayed up all night with a heartbroken Barbara weeping onto his breast, consoling as best he could.

For him too, it's the final straw.

If things weren't awkward between him and Bruce before, they certainly are now. Relations among all of them run from tepid to tense. But the city still needs – _demands_ a Batman. So the signal goes up night after night, and the caped crusader dutifully responds. Whenever they meet – whether in or out of uniform – it's strictly professional. No mention of sidekicks or Jokers. No more jokes between them. …Not that there were many previous pleasantries to dispense with. (However, he does observe that the Batman has ceased the infuriating habit of vanishing in the middle of his sentences, perhaps as some form of pacification. Or at least an unconscious attempt at one.)

Months pass. Barbara keeps him posted on Tim's progress. Despite the gradual improvements in the lad's condition, he still doesn't dare to go visit himself. He doesn't wish to overwhelm or cause undue anxiety. …More precisely, he has no idea what he would even say to the kid directly.

Christmas comes and goes. Before he realizes, it's New Year's Eve. He's working late again, as usual. Bullock already left (he'd been avoiding overtime ever since Montoya transferred and his new partner didn't work out), the station is still. Calm. Stationary.

He looks up from his desk. It seems like only yesterday that on this same night Robin was sitting on the edge of it, swinging his legs carefree while they discussed Joker's latest plot to kill hundreds of victims. Just another typical day at the office in Gotham. The boy was often distractible, as adolescents his age were. Jim had even caught him staring idly out the window once, pining after his very first crush (and subsequently from heartache). Yet despite whatever disruption to his mind, he always bounced back and came through when it counted.

He'd come through this time too.

Jim rubs the bridge between his brows and glances at the clock. Half past one. Missed the countdown, not that it matters much to him. More importantly, he remembers another custom he always shared with a comrade around this time, a quiet tradition to celebrate another year of success and solidarity.

_Twenty minutes to two._

Surely he won't show up.

_Quarter 'till._

That fool can't be expecting him to.

_Ten minutes remaining._

He seriously didn't think anyone would be there.

_Five._

With a sigh, he grabs his coat and rushes out the door into the frigid air.

Drawing up before the tavern, it's already long vacant when he steps inside, save for the owner who greets him with a welcoming smile.

"Good to see you, Comish. Almost thought you weren't coming, was just about to lock up."

"He hasn't been by, has he?"

"No sign of him, I'm afraid. Held up somewhere saving the day, I bet. Should I get you some coffee in the meantime?"

"Sure. …Make it two."

He takes a seat at their regular booth, sips his beverage, and waits.

…

By the time the hour strikes three, it becomes clear that the other untouched cup isn't the only vessel gone cold. Gordon finishes his drink and places payment for both on the table.

"Guess I finally beat him to the check this year."

His host picks up the money, but then passes the bills back. "Forget it, Comish. It's on the house. Shame though, first time in years he hasn't made an appearance. Must be a busy night."

"Must be."

"Careful on your way home, Commissioner. Lots of snow out there."

"Will do. You take care now."

"Happy New Year, Comish."

"To you too. Have a good night."

As he departs onto the street, he nearly bumps into a drunken choir, belting out the year end's refrain.

_For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne._

_We'll take a cup o' kindness yet, for auld lang syne._

Bowing his head through the quickening blizzard, he makes his way to the vehicle and drives off before the sleet can swallow his tires, unaware of a shadow watching on from overhead.

When he gets home, he finds Barbara curled up asleep on the couch, and an unexpected dinner is waiting for him on the table. Draping a blanket over his beloved thoughtful offspring, he tucks her in and gives her a doting peck just like when she was little. Pouring himself another glass, he reclines on the sofa next to her and raises a toast to the air.

"Here's to survival."

As the storm braves on outside, he reflects on family, friends, and retirement.

He's really getting too old for this.

_Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?_

_Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and days of auld lang syne?_


End file.
